Splendid, More or Less
by nefret24
Summary: CHAPTER 5 UP! Amelia Peabody Series Filler for Crocodile on the Sandbank- what happens between proposal and pregnancy? Amelia deals with the aftermath of the attack... Please rr.
1. The First Typographic Euphemism

Splendid, More or Less

Author: Nefret24

Category: A/E, W/E , pre-Ramses

Disclaimer: Not mine, not making a dime, just wasting my time. It's all MPM.

A/N: One of those pesky things that has always bothered me about Crocodile in the Sandbank is the large jump from proposal to pregnancy. This, hopefully, fills in some blanks. 

WARNING: Contains spoilers for "Crocodile on the Sandbank" as well as facts revealed in later books, most esp. "He Shall Thunder in the Sky"... Real Amelia-philes will know what I'm referring to, *cough cough cough*

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"Archaeology is a fascinating pursuit, but after all, one cannot work day and night... Peabody, my darling Peabody- what a perfectly splendid time we are going to have!"

As soon as I had prevailed upon Emerson to leave off embracing me- which I admit, was quite a good deal later- I decided that it would behoove us to announce our engagement to Evelyn and Walter. We had left them in the saloon, where they had been moonily looking into one another's eyes. One glance into that room confirmed that they had remained exactly so and...well, there was always tomorrow. 

Besides, Emerson and I had a great deal to discuss. 

"Er... Amelia..."

"Yes, Emerson?"

"Is there someone, er, to whom I should apply for your hand?" 

It was such a formal request and so tentatively spoken, that I had to restrain myself from laughing at the originator of its utterance, who by all accounts, is not a formal nor a tentative man. 

"No. My father died scarcely two years ago, and I never knew my mother. I hardly need add that my brothers are not in any way interested in my fate- well, they will most likely mourn the loss of father's fortune to marriage, but I certainly do not need their permission to do whatever I choose."

"I think I know you well enough to presume that you will stop at nothing to get your way," he replied, amusement apparent in his voice.

"Would you have it otherwise, Emerson?"

"Not for anything in the world, my dearest Peabody."

At this point, certain actions of both parties rendered speech incapable.

"Is there any of your relations who should object to your choice of wife?" I asked, breathlessly.

"Er...no, I should think not. My family cast me out years ago... Walter is all the family I have."

A decidedly uncomfortable silence fell upon us then- for I seemed to have hit a tender spot, and for almost the first time in my life, was at a loss for how to proceed with the conversation with my characteristic tact. 

"Families be damned. We don't need them to ensure our happiness, eh, Peabody?" he said encouragingly, giving my shoulders a hearty squeeze. 

"Indeed, we do not, my dear Emerson."

We proceeded to walk around the deck, conversation having given way to the beauty of the night and the contemplation of the happiest of futures, and eventually, he walked me to my cabin door. 

There we stopped, both at a loss as to what to do next. Emerson had developed an attachment to his shoes, for he had fixed an expression of total concentration upon them, and I was only cognizant of the blood rushing through my ears at a rapid pace. We murmured our good night's to one another, and his arms took me into another embrace- this one comfortingly gentle and surprisingly short-lived. With a fleeting caress of my cheek, he turned abruptly and went down the hall to his own sleeping chamber. 

As I went about my nightly ablutions, I felt as if in a haze. I, who had sworn never to be contracted in marriage, was betrothed. As I began to braid my hair for the night, I looked at my face in the glass. Indeed, I did not look any different as I had been this morning, but I was not the same person. I glanced at my bed and permitted myself a smile. Soon, I would venture there with a husband- and would it be as Evelyn had said? 

I confess, I tried to sleep but with no avail. Emerson remained uppermost in my thoughts. It would not do. Wrapping my shawl around my shoulders, and lighting the candle by my bedside, I crept out of my room and proceeded down the hallway to Emerson's cabin. 

I knocked as lightly as I could, not wanting to alert Walter or Evelyn. To my utmost surprise, it was opened almost immediately and a brown hand pulled me inside. 

"Peabody? What the devil do you want at this time of night?"

"I-I could not sleep."

"Ah."

"I am sorry to have disturbed you..."

"No, no, I-I could not sleep either."

We both stood in the middle of his room, which was very small, and were giving much attention to the floor. 

"This is ridiculous!" I exclaimed, frustrated. "I think we ought to be truthful with ourselves, Emerson."

He looked up and gave me a penetrating stare, which almost sent me reeling backwards. 

"Er, yes, of course."

"We shall not be able to rest tonight otherwise."

"Indeed," he replied in a strangled voice.

"I cannot claim to have experience in such matters but I- well, we..." I stammered. 

Then taking a step forward, he caught me in a rib cracking embrace. "Peabody, my darling Peabody... are you certain this is what you want?"

"Yes, my dear Emerson. I am sure... oh Emerson!"

And it is here that I must resort to my first typographic euphemism...

***

Much later, as I rested with my head on Emerson's shoulder, I sighed contentedly. "Evelyn was right."

"Hmmm?" Emerson, inquired, kissing my hair.

"It is perfectly splendid!"

"Splendid, eh? Before this night is over, Peabody, it will be downright blissful!"

"Oh my dearest Emerson!"

***

Evelyn and Walter could not be happier for us. Early that morning, I had crept back into my own room and when we all convened for breakfast, I broke the news. Evelyn began to cry and would not leave off embracing me. Walter merely smiled knowingly and shook his brother's hand. It was, all in all, thoroughly sentimental and touching to those of sensibility, causing Emerson to roar for his tea- which he had not had the chance to consume yet- in his usual raucous manner. Yet I do believe he enjoyed every minute of it, no matter how strenuously he protested at a later time that he did not. 

"Oh Amelia, I knew, I **knew** that we should be sisters!" Evelyn exclaimed, beaming. 

"It shall be a welcome change. I can say that the experience so far has greatly surpassed my relationships with all of my brothers," I replied, smiling back and sipping my tea contentedly.

"You must wear crimson at your wedding," Evelyn continued enthusiastically.

Emerson grunted while Walter stifled a chuckle, pretending to cough into his napkin. 

"Not engaged a day and already planning the wedding!" Walter commented good-naturedly. "What have we gotten ourselves into, Radcliffe?"

"Nothing that we can't handle," he replied curtly, draining half his cup. 

I raised a skeptical brow which I know he witnessed, even behind the relative obscurity of the raised tea-cup, and thought I beheld a slight quivering of the lips that I found was indicative of Emerson's slightly off-color sense of humor. I, however, refused to take the bait, so to speak, for concerns for more practical matters were uppermost in my thoughts.

"Yes, well, plan as we may, and as much as I was hoping to continue my holiday here, we must get to Cairo with the greatest haste and notify the proper authorities about our two criminals."

Evelyn's countenance sobered and she nodded her head with solemn agreement. "She is right, I'm afraid."

"She's always right," Walter smiled warmly at me.

Emerson harumphed loudly. I ignored him. "I will approach Sir William about the matter- it should be handled with relative haste, I should think. He will be able to release your boxes to you, Evelyn," I said as I refilled Emerson's cup, "and I'm sure that in its contents you'll find that your inheritance is considerable enough for the grandest of weddings."

Evelyn blushed and shot a sideways glance and Walter, who had taken her hand in his and patted it affectionately. 

"The excavation," Emerson mumbled glumly.

Walter, if I may use an American expression, "wiped the grin off his face" and shot a shocked look at his brother. "Oh, Radcliffe, I'm so sorry- in all the rush I seem to have neglected my responsibility..."

"Walter, don't talk like an idiot," Emerson interrupted his brother gruffly.

"Work has come to a standstill," I agreed, biting my lower lip. As much as I desired to be wed with all due haste- even more so after the events of the previous night- I could not deprive my Emerson of his dig. Besides I didn't particularly fancy returning home just yet. "I confess I was rather curious to see if there was more to the site- I suppose it could be too much to ask if there was a third pavement...I suppose your permit to work there is limited?"

Emerson began to growl softly and I sensed this was a subject of some discontent. Walter anticipated his brother's imminent outburst and explained hastily, "M. Maspero does have a tendency to favor certain colleagues of ours..."

"And keep the best sites for himself, the ignorant--" Emerson began to make an inappropriate remark before Evelyn's somewhat shocked countenance forced him to stifle it by shoving a sweet roll into his mouth.

"Er, I think we get your point, Emerson," I replied.

Emerson growled and stomped his foot like a petulant child who was prevented from making a loud temper tantrum. He was about to continue anyway however, but I continued in a loud voice, "Owing to these circumstances, I believe it is of even greater importance that we get to Cairo with all due haste. Combined with Michael's health..."

"You have done wonders for him Amelia!" Evelyn protested.

"It is kind of you to say so, Evelyn," I murmured graciously as I shot a glare at Emerson who was mumbling something under his breath about the "Sitt Hakim" that was distinctly sarcastic. "He does have a strong constitution and he has regained much of his strength in the past few days. Though I still believe that he ought to consult a doctor once we make it to port."

"That's very sensible, Mis- er... Amelia," Walter said, nodding with Evelyn.

"Hopefully we will run into no more setbacks. Those beastly Americans in that dirty dahabeeyah took more time to disengage than I think Hassan wants to admit. We should arrive in town in two days time, do you think?"

"If the wind keeps up," Walter said, drawing his brows together. They quickly cleared and gazed back at Evelyn, regaining their cheerful gleam. "I'm sure it will. Nothing can go wrong now."

"Well, we must remain optimistic," I said briskly. "Work on the excavations can be stalled for another week- I confess I am not acquainted with the procedures involved with bringing our prisoners to justice, would it take longer that that?"

"I will not be mixed up in your legal affairs! My work, Peabody! I don't see why we couldn't just leave them in the tomb and be done with it!" Emerson shouted angrily.

"If you recall, Emerson, that was my suggestion, but it was not well received at the time."

"Oh stop it, both of you!" Evelyn chided us. "Lucas may be dishonest- he may even be a murderer! but he is my cousin and at the very least he deserves a trial."

"He **deserves**..." began Walter in a growl suspiciously akin to his brother's.

"Now who's losing their temper?" Emerson chuckled, sitting back in his chair and fishing around for his pipe.

"Well, we cannot make the boat go any faster than it is. We can deal with everything else later and I for one, am not going to sit here and worry the day away. The sun is shining and I believe I'll take a stroll around the deck. Anyone care to join me?" I asked, rising and folding my napkin.

Evelyn and Walter shot each other a glance. It was clear that a stroll would be pleasing to both of them- even more so if I were not there. And Emerson, having found his pipe, was puffing away with furrowed brows, most likely brooding over his excavations. Met with a lack of response, I said simply, "Do what you will," and left the dining room. 

* * *

I met Evelyn on the upper deck for luncheon and was pleasantly surprised to find her alone- all of her time of late being preoccupied with dear Walter. She informed me that spurred by his brother's earlier comments, he felt obligated to spend some time translating some of the reliefs and papyri they had uncovered at the site and was deep in his work in the boat's makeshift library. Emerson's precise whereabouts were unknown to her but if I was any judge (and I believe I am) it was most likely that he was below haranguing the crew with dirty jokes.

"Oh Amelia, it must be wicked to be so happy!" she confided, beaming.

I chuckled, gazing out over the clear blue water and feeling quite satisfied and wickedly happy myself. "Most of the time I would say that if something sounds too good to be true, it usually is. Somehow, though, I think we must have found a loophole, for I confess- I am dreadfully content with life at the moment."

"And you look it too. Really" she continued over my humble protestations, "I believe the climate becomes you quite well. Better than I, at any rate." She wrinkled her nose with dissatisfaction. "I think I finally got sunburned," she said, delicately touching the bridge of her nose.

I couldn't help it- I laughed. "Oh dear. Don't worry- it can't possibly be as bad as mine."

"What shall they make of us at Shepheard's when we return?" she chuckled worriedly, still gingerly touching her nose.

"They talked behind our backs before, I'm sure. It will be no different now, sunburn or no. Both engaged, hauling in criminals... gossip is inevitable."

"When you put it like that," Evelyn agreed, removing her hand from her face and squaring her shoulders. I could see that she was already steeling herself for what I was sure would be a curious reception of her social peers. I shrugged my shoulders; such things never mattered to me before and I wasn't about to start caring about what feeble-minded individuals thought of me now (though I'm sure that I have done my fair share of shocking the conservative Briton). 

"Oh do let's stop being so dreary! What about those dresses?" I asked and we spent the rest of lunch chattering about things of lesser importance.

* * *

We dined in the salon again that night, though this time not bothering with the hassle of dressing (Emerson had made it clear to all earlier in the day that under no circumstances would he wear a proper collar before we reached Cairo). We told the men what we had previously discussed, Walter nodding with a grin on his face and Emerson glaring and harumphing.

"I daresay both of our weddings shall be grand! You too have both done very well for yourselves, marrying rich spinsters!" Evelyn joked merrily.

"Hardly a spinster, darling," Walter said affectionately.

"Hardly rich," I added. "Well, not as rich as some."

"Amelia, you are as much of an heiress as I, never mind some pounds and pence."

"Yes, Evelyn informed us that you received your fortune from your father's death," Walter agreed, shooting a glance across the table at Emerson.

"Indeed I did. And had it not been for my excellent solicitor, I don't think I should have kept the inheritance at all for my brothers were all too anxious to take what they assumed was their due," I explained quickly, pouring tea for myself.

"I'm sure they didn't mean it-" Evelyn began generously.

"I'm sure that they did. James, my eldest brother, even proclaimed undue influence. I'm sure that nothing would have appeased him other than full inheritance himself. As it is, he's going to be livid for sure when I return home," I said pointedly, looking at Emerson who had become quite rigid in his chair.

The others comprehended the situation quickly. 

"Oh Amelia- he wouldn't... contest the marriage.... would he?" Evelyn asked tentatively.

"Does it matter? He cannot stop me from living my own life," I replied warmly, sipping my tea.

"Well said, Amelia," Walter agreed heartily. "I do believe that nothing would stop you from having your way."

Emerson harumphed but still said nothing.

"Perhaps another solicitor could help. There is one fellow I know in London who is very capable with inheritance disputes," Walter continued. "Though I am not quite certain if he would be available- I had heard through a friend that he might be celebrating his own vows rather shortly as well."

Emerson muttered something about an "matrimonial epidemic."

I ignored him. "Well, I am quite confident in my solicitor's ability- he has dealt successfully with James before..." I replied, though not wishing to appear ungrateful, "though I suppose it couldn't hurt to consult someone else. Several heads are better than one."

Walter's eyes lit up and taking a napkin, wrote down his name, passing it across the table. "Mr. Paul Fletcher of the firm Morris, Fletcher and Urquart."

I choked on my tea.

"Amelia, what is it?" asked Evelyn, concerned.

I raised a napkin to lips in an effort to control my writhing lips and coughed. 

"He should be available by the time you reach England, I should think," continued Walter nervously. "That is, if he's not involved in his nuptials."

"He's not engaged," I croaked.

"What? Do you know him?" Evelyn asked and I replied with a nod of the head, still not trusting my voice. "Why, Amelia, you know everyone and everything! Come now, how do you know that this Mr. Fletcher isn't engaged? You've been away a month, at least!"

"So have they," I replied, making motions to the two gentlemen. "Oh Evelyn, don't look like that. I don't have genie intelligence" here Emerson snorted derisively "just a very good idea of whom the lady in question was and her answer."

"Whom?"

"Me," I replied, finishing the rest of my tea in one hasty swallow. "Mr. Fletcher is my solicitor. Excuse me," I said, rising and left the room with distinctly red cheeks. 

TBC....

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	2. An Attack of the Vapors

Splendid, More or Less Part 2/?

Author: Nefret24

Disclaimer n' notes, see part 1.

Feedback is greatly encouraged and appreciated. nefret21217@yahoo.com

For more A/N, see end of the chapter

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I was pacing the upper deck, chiding myself. How could I have been so indulgent as to resort to such a melodramatic gesture as this? I generally have more self-possession and I cannot say what made me act with such idiocy. Though, in my own defense, having a fiancé did tend to alter one's perspectives on things (in more ways than one). 

I worried for Emerson's feelings (the male ego, I had already discovered, was a very fragile thing) not to mention what his reaction would be against the well-meaning Mr. Fletcher when they met in person. I pitied my solicitor, the only one of my previous suitors to propose with honesty, having been motivated not out of greed but of something else entirely. (I do not dare flatter myself that I had the charms to possess any man, even Emerson, but I think I can safely say that neither one of them were more captivated by my pocketbook than my personality.) Walter made claims to friendship, but whether or not Emerson enjoyed such a bond with Mr. Fletcher I had was not certain. Having considered their tempers, however, I assumed that Emerson would rather be beaten with sticks than indulge in pleasantries with such a mild-mannered individual with rather conservative political views. 

It was a rather embarrassing little trap I had constructed for myself, I realized in those moments of reflection; after lecturing Mr. Fletcher so sternly about my lack of matrimonial ambitions, I traveled for a few months only to return engaged what else could the poor man think but that I made up my previously stalwart convictions in an elaborate ruse to let him down gently? If there is one thing I cannot stand, it's being false to one's principles. 

And now, apparently, I had done so more than once. I contemplated the cool, dark water below me and vowed that if I should have an attack of the vapors to complete the night's humiliations, I might as well fling myself over the side in defiance of all proper Christian beliefs.

A delicate cough beside me brought my thoughts back to the present and I beheld Evelyn out of the corner of my eye. 

"Amelia, I'm sorry," she said softly.

I laughed somewhat bitterly and shook my head. "Evelyn, you have nothing to be sorry for. Why the devil are you apologizing for my wretched behavior?"

Evelyn made a face at my language but I was in too foul a mood to maintain polite conversation. She replied, with that firmness that I tend to forget she possesses, "I pressed too far with my teasing, I realize that. But you are acting childish and it does you no credit. The men are thoroughly bewildered with you and I refuse to be the one to explain it to them."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Well, I refuse to explain it to the one who needs it most. Talk to Emerson, Amelia. Please? You two are hopeless for one another- it's a shame to see everything go to pieces because you're both too stubborn to just sit down and talk like ordinary people about ordinary things for once."

"We talk about ordinary things!" I protested rather feebly.

"No, I am quite sure that the majority of people in this world do not go round talking about pre-dynastic pottery or mummified remains or- or any of _that_ on a daily basis. Or over the supper table."

I snorted derisively, belatedly realizing that Emerson's manners (or lack thereof) were beginning to rub off. I shot a glance at Evelyn and felt immediately reproved. I smiled weakly and shook my head, returning my gaze to the water. 

"Do you feel as if you're the same person?" I blurted out.

"Pardon?"

"Do- do you- are you the same person you were a week ago, do you think?" I said awkwardly, feeling my cheeks get a bit warm.

"Of course I am! Well in most respects, I am," Evelyn replied kindly and reached over to squeeze my hand. I met her eyes and realized for the second time tonight I had underestimated her perception. "As are you."

"But I'm _not_," I retort with warmth. Scarcely taking a breath, I continued in a torrent of pent up frustration, "There seems to be a completely different aspect to me, a disgustingly sentimental side that I never possessed or cared to possess- suddenly I'm sensitive about things that under normal circumstances I wouldn't give a fig about and I don't know how to make it stop and be normal again."

I waited tensely for her reply but none was forthcoming. I glanced over to see her with a hand wrapped around her mouth and supposed she was crying. Fumbling for a handkerchief, I extended it to her, only to be shrugged off. Slowly lowering her hand, I belatedly saw she was softly chuckling. 

"Well, I certainly don't see the humor in the situation," I sniffed, returning my handkerchief to its proper place.

"Amelia, you are a wonder. You take ambulating mummies in stride but get flustered over a little bit of everyday, _normal_ human emotion! What's wrong with being sentimental?"

"Nothing, I suppose for some people," I replied defensively.

"There is a great difference from being a person of sensibility and being what was that you said? 'disgustingly sentimental.' Loving someone else, thinking about raising a family-- that doesn't make you a blithering idiot."

"It feels like it," I said sulkily.

"Amelia, you have more sense than anyone I know. You just need to put it to a good use," she said with a shudder. "I'm going back inside."

"I'll come in shortly. Evelyn," I called out to her retreating form. "Thank you." 

She nodded in reply and shortly disappeared from sight. It was odd, confiding in someone, another woman about things. It was a novel experience; after being raised amongst men, the only female influence I had in my formative years being that of the nursemaid and the occasional servant (the governess hired for me did not last long, what with my brothers running through the house willy-nilly without respect for person or property). I had made only a handful of friends outside of my father's house and even fewer outside the confines of the British Museum and my tailor's. None of them had ever endeared themselves to me to the degree that Evelyn had in a span of a mere few days. 

To unburden troubles on another had always seemed a futile and prideful act only indulged in by vaporous ladies craving attention that they could not receive otherwise and an attempt to gain sense that they did not possess through a sort of social assimilation. I have always had enough sense and purpose for two, and discussions of lace and balls had never held my attention. Evelyn's quiet prodding however was not courted; she offered it freely to me out of friendly consideration and in the end, I was the better for it. 

I had come to Egypt for a change of scenery; what I had not expected was to change myself. 

I will not pretend that I have always been the model Englishwoman. I was raised in a protective circle of books and brothers, with no one having any expectations for me to live up to. I simply _was_ and most got along well enough if they left me to my own devices. I received few invitations to any social function before my beloved father's passing and I didn't mind. I had my own studies and a household to run which kept me busy enough. To be sure, it wasn't every young girl who spends the majority of her spare time perusing the library at the British museum but then I never was like my peers, like Evelyn. I had tried my hand at the so-called "women's arts" and failed. I liked archaeology and that's what I pursued, against all "proper" notions. 

And Emerson, in a astonishing turn of generosity for his sex, seemed to respect me for those convictions and accept them wholeheartedly as traits becoming to his bride-to-be. He wasn't normal, either. Perhaps that was the problem- we neither of us fit into the mold we were supposed to. Thinking to act like Evelyn and Walter was folly; we were too old and sensible for outbursts such as these. 

My dark mood had passed, as they often do once common sense is applied to the matter. Steeling myself, I walked determinedly to the drawing room. As I approached, I could hear Evelyn playing the piano, a delicate lilting piece of music, sweetly echoing along the deck. 

Noiselessly, I entered the salon, taking note of Walter's position at her side as page turner and Emerson reclined in a dark corner, puffing on his pipe with a look of intense concentration on his face. Walter must have sensed my presence for his head inclined ever so slightly in my direction. I took up a straight-backed chair on the opposite side of the room and made a show of reading Samuel Birch.

Evelyn soon put her performance to a close and announced her intentions to take another stroll around the deck, with, I hardly need add, Walter offering to accompany her. We exchanged a conspiratorial look as she left the room and I rose to confront Emerson.

He did not move from his reclining position on the couch. Nor did he acknowledge my presence in any way. He just sat there, puffing steadily, staring off into space. 

I cleared my throat, still receiving no response. This was going to be harder than I had thought.

"Emerson," I ventured.

Nothing. His lips moved an imperceptible amount, making large wisps of smoke emanate from the pipe and reassuring one that he was indeed alive and at the very least semi-animate. 

"Emerson, I think you are due both an apology and an explanation, both of which you shall receive, if we may be persuaded to an agreement," I said hurriedly.

His head moved ever so slowly until his eyes came to focus on mine. After another contemplative puff, he narrowed his eyes and nodded his head.

"Mr. Fletcher has been my family solicitor since he became a partner at the law firm ten years ago. He is reliable and honest and very good at his job. And he did propose and I did decline that proposal with the equanimity in which it was given. I have no intention of finding alternative representation when I return to England."

A quiet grunt from Emerson's person was all the reply to my short speech.

"I realize that I have acted erm, rather childishly and in a manner all too prevalent in the majority of my gender and I shall promise," here I had to pause to clear my throat again, "never to do so in the future."

Emerson murmured something that sounded suspiciously like "thank god," even though he is not a religious man.

"But"

"I knew it! I knew it! What is it now, Peabody? How can you possibly rationalize this any further?" Emerson's voice rose to a dull roar.

"We must make an agreement- never to lie or, or keep things from one another. Common honesty is a virtue" 

"That was **it** then?" Emerson interrupted, the roar growing louder by a few decibels. "You ruined my dessert course because you were embarrassed - that I'd think you were keeping things from me!" he laughed derisively. "Amelia, your face is an open book! I honestly will never understand the female illogic. And not even the inimitable Miss PEABODY is immune to it!"

"I cannot possibly understand how you can be so cool about this" I said angrily, stamping my foot.

"Amelia, this is a paltry affair blown to gargantuan proportions by your rampageous imagination and what I can only assume is some kind of feminine backlash from months of suppression"

"My imagination! You-"

"You-"

We both stopped for lack of breath and stared for a moment, considering one another. 

I should have known that an alliance with an intelligence as formidable as my own would never work out. I was angry with myself for acting foolishly and the only way to remedy the situation was to lash out at the nearest object- namely the one person I couldn't afford to hurt. If we were ordinary, if we were like Walter and Evelyn, we could have kissed and made up by now. I was too tired to try and force something I wasn't sure fit anymore.

"Emerson, I told you this wouldn't work. We can't even come to a simple agreement about not deceiving one another!"

"I never said I didn't agree. If I hadn't of been interrupted time and time again"

"If you hadn't been insulting time and time again, there wouldn't have been a need. But then you do agree?"

I held my breath waiting for a response.

Emerson very slowly removed the pipe from his mouth and tapped it out vigorously, checking it twice before putting it in his pocket, which still bore the marks of his previous misadventure. He pursed his lips in an odd fashion and it wasn't until I leaned forward slightly that I saw in the dim light the hints of the grin beginning to form.

Twice in one night. Was there no one who could take things seriously anymore? Intolerable. "B----- h---," I muttered underneath my breath. Glaring at the man I had considered my beloved up until that moment, I demanded, "Well?"

Trying to maintain control over his writhing lips, Emerson replied in a suspiciously shaky voice, "Amelia, you didn't apologize."

"Really? How odd. I was sure I did," I replied abstractedly, crossing my arms and ostentatiously not looking directly at him.

"Amelia."

"Yes?"

"You're doing it again."

I stared back at him and shook my head wearily. "We are too alike for this to work. We shall make one another miserable."

"I can't imagine how. What's past is past. You can't possibly excavate without me and I need your money- so here we are. Stuck with one another."

"It isn't about that at all!" I protested.

"No? Well, adoring you might have something to do with it," he said, sitting back contentedly.

I snapped my mouth shut, my reproaches dying on my lips. Almost against my will, I found my features mirroring his smug grin. "Oh Emerson, you - I mean, about Mr. Fletcher"

He reached over and took my hand, tugging my arm and consequently the rest of me over towards the couch. "He's your solicitor and shall remain so unless" here he paused to kiss my hands in turn.

"Unless what?"

Emerson made an indefinable sound and somehow maneuvered me onto his lap. I began to suspect his attentions of having a distinctly alternative purpose rather than a display of affection. 

"Unless what, Emerson?"

"Well, I cannot with honor allow another man admire my future wife, can I?" he drawled offensively, his lips slowly moving north.

"Oh for heavens sake, Emerson Emerson! It's it's just Mr. Fletcher!" I said in a shrill voice, slapping at his hands.

"Just Mr. Fletcher" he agreed and continued what he was doing. "And there are no other rejected suitors I should know about?"

"Well, I have had other proposals" I began, feeling Emerson immediately become more rigid. "But they weren't worth considering."

"No? Well then, I feel suitably reassured," he replied unconvincingly.

"Whatever happened to what's past is past?" I replied mockingly, poking him in the chest. 

His eyes darkened by way of reply.

"Emerson, you know that you're the only man for me no matter how insufferable you are," I murmured to his shoulder.

"Harumph," he said, but I knew my words had some effect, for he unclenched his teeth and embraced me warmly. 

"And you will not beat Mr. Fletcher into a bloody pulp when you are introduced?"

"Amelia, I am astonished that you would even considered that I would do such a thing! I, a man of consummate self-possession, as you no doubt have discerned and with a temper that could barely hurt a fly."

"Emerson, promise you will not physically harm Mr. Fletcher."

"Oh you silly foolish woman! I promise, I promise! Are you satisfied?" he growled, throwing up his hands.

"Yes," I replied quietly, and kissed him softly on the lips. 

As I believe I have remarked on other occasions, a soft answer turneth away wrath, as the Scripture teaches us and so it was. Moments later found us sitting side by side on the divan, my head on his shoulder.

"Do you think we shall ever be like ordinary people, Emerson?"

"Peabody, why would you ever want to be like ordinary people?"

And when he put it like that, I confess, I could not come up with a persuasive answer.

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TBC


	3. ReIntroducing Mr Gilbertson, and the Fir...

Splendid, More or Less Part 3/?

Author: Nefret24

Disclaimer and notes see part 1. 

Author's Apology: Heartily abject for the long wait between installments. Between classes and my poor little IMAC dying, it's been a rough couple weeks. Excuses, excuses…. Mea culpa. 

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I was really beginning to wonder about myself.

I came to Egypt as a fully rational, coherent individual with all five faculties in perfect working order, enhancedeven, by an intuition that all sensible females possess. 

Now apparently, in the eyes of others, I had lost my wits (a circumstance to them which appears relatively normal considering I have gained a male person to think for me, i.e. Emerson The Fiance, and thus can and, presumably, will act like a vapid cow.)

All I could say was this was all Emerson's fault. If he had condescended to accompany me to Sir Evelyn Baring's offices, I am quite sure that the inferior individual with whom I conferred would not have guffawed quite so loud when presented with the account of what had occurred in the previous weeks. I was almost tempted to give him a good whack with what I had come to consider as the business end of my parasol, but ladylike restraint forbade it. 

I let him have his laugh, not so subtly showing my disapproval with a leveled glare and simply waited him out. Clearing my throat loudly, I spoke with rather loud overtones," Mr. Albers," for such was this insufferable character's name, "I really must protest against this unprofessional behavior."

"Oh Miss Peabody, do pardon me," he said, wiping his eyes. "But your narrative style…"

"The question remains, sir, what to do with these brazen criminals?" I interrupted boldly.

"Well, erm. Ahem," he said, regaining his composure and stroking his mustache idly. "I apologize. Now Miss Amelia, I know by your reputation that you are an honest and forthright… yo- … lady but- you must know- it is every Englishman's right to a proper trial," he said condescendingly, wagging his finger at me.

"One of them is Italian," I retorted coldly and then continued in a more polite fashion, "May I not speak with Sir Evelyn?" Upon seeing his blank stare I felt compelled to add, "He was a dear old friend of my father's." Far be it from me to condone deception, but sometimes a small exaggerated statement can go a long way- or so I devoutly wished. 

I was not mistaken, as Mr. Albers seemed to jump in his chair as if he had sat on a rather sharp tack. "I'm sorry- he's gone home for the day already," Mr. Albers said after taking a cursory glance at his watch.

I cursed underneath my breath. I had not realized that the hour had grown so late in my fervor in pestering underlings at the Consulate.

"But, I'm sure he could meet with you tomorrow?" he stammered, now full of exquisite feigned politeness. 

"I'm sure he could," I replied in kind. "But what am I supposed to do with them tonight? I don't suppose the Cairene police would be of any assistance…?" 

The look on Mr. Albers' face coupled with my remembrance of Emerson's numerous scathing comments against the local authorities was enough to confirm the inadequacy of that particular plan. 

"Maybe you should just wait until you speak with Sir Evelyn? Tomorrow is another day, what?"

Rendered speechless by an unholy combination of sheer rage and overwhelming mirth at the man's stupidity, I simply nodded dumbly and stood, indicating my wish to leave. 

He rose to lead me to the outer office. "Let's see if we can find anyone about to escort you home. I shall inform Sir Evelyn tomorrow of your situation and then you may be free to enjoy your holiday, eh?" he said, with a wink.

I made no reply but groaned inwardly as I saw Dudley Gilbertson enter the room. He was the old acquaintance of my father's that I had consulted to inquire after Evelyn's boxes before my voyage up the Nile. If my previous description of my encounter with him was rather short, I can only say, dear Reader, that I had hoped to spare you from his disagreeableness. (Herr Brugsch, though equally as vexing and arrogant, at least has the benefit of being somewhat famous and interesting.)

And of course, it was he, who with a little bow, volunteered to escort me back to the _Philae_. 

"I really am in no need of an escort- a cab would suit me just fine," I reiterated as we walked down the consulate steps. 

"No, no, Miss Amelia, I must insist. A lady such as yourself shouldn't be wandering about these streets after dark," he said with a wave of his hand, indicating said unsavory streets. I, for one, was not intimated in the slightest and seemed to know my way much better than he, for at one point I was forced to tell him to turn down the correct road.

"Shepheards' is this way, Mr. Gilbertson," I said, pointing with my parasol and exhibiting remarkable control, I did not jab him with it. He followed shrugging off his misstep and continued to try and match my brisk walking pace. 

"Dear me… I say… Miss Amelia, do…! Slow down… a bit. No harm will come to you," he wheezed. 

"Of that I am quite aware, with no assistance from you. Do try and keep up, Mr. Gilbertson- recall it was your idea to walk to the hotel."

"A nice stroll, yes," he nodded grimly, wiping his face with a handkerchief and then shortly thereafter seemed to have gained his second wind, giving me leave to continue on.

When we arrived, half of the lobby seemed to descend upon me. Herr Baehler, the concierge, a good deal of safragis and Evelyn and Walter rushed to my side. Evelyn practically enveloped me in pink lawn as she embraced me tightly.

"Oh, Amelia, we were so worried about you! You were gone so long and Mr. Emerson hadn't heard from you… I am so glad to see you're all right."

"Of course I am all right. Have I ever been anything but?" I said with a grin and adjusted my hat. Hearing a cough at my side, I rolled my eyes and made introductions. 

"What did Sir Baring say?" Walter asked, once we had found ourselves an open divan and had dispersed the clinging hotel staff. 

"Well, I'm afraid I did not get a chance to speak with him," I confessed, watching Evelyn's face contort with concern. "However, I do have an appointment tomorrow and I'm sure everything will be ironed out then," I ended optimistically, ignoring Mr. Gilbertson's wide, inquiring eyes. "Have we rooms?" I said, before Mr. Gilbertson could ask the question hovering on his lips.

"Mr. Baehler has given us our old rooms but Walter says that he and Mr. Emerson will find lodging elsewhere," Evelyn informed me.

"Where will you stay? Somewhere close by, I hope?"

"My brother and I have several acquaintances in town," Walter replied evasively. "I'm sure we'd be staying with them."

"Oh. Speaking of your brother, is he still at the dahabeeyah?" I asked. When we had moored in the afternoon, Emerson had announced his intentions of staying with the boat, lest our criminals escape while I went to the consulate and Walter and Evelyn would procure rooms for the night. I confess I was a bit put out when I did not see him among the welcoming crowd but sensible judgement demanded the necessity of someone remaining on guard. 

Walter replied in the affirmative. 

"Perhaps I should return and make sure all is well?"

"Amelia, you cannot possibly be considering that! To leave now, alone and unprotected? It is sheer folly!" Evelyn protested, grabbing hold of my hand. 

"It is not so far," I said, reclaiming my hand. 

Mr. Gilbertson decided to perk up by adding his own comments of warning, "Miss Amelia, you underestimate the dangers of the streets here at night. She wanted to walk hear unescorted," he confided to Walter with a smug grin.

"That sounds like our Amelia," Walter replied with a genial smile. "Surely you know by now that Emerson can handle himself?"

"Oh, I am sure of it- it is Lucas who I do not trust," I said darkly, rising. (My Critic, looking over my shoulder, reminds me that I have addressed that villianous individual by his Christian name. I would like to remind him that I did so not out of affection but of a wish to no further scandalize Evelyn in front of Mr. Gilbertson.)

"Amelia, please, will you not reconsider?" Evelyn pleaded.

"My mind is quite made up, I am sorry," I said with a shake of my head, gripping the handle of my parasol firmly.

"At least let Walter go with you," she said, with a nod towards her fiance.

Walter seemed about to accept this duty like the gentleman he is, but Mr. Gilbertson preceded him. 

"I will escort you to your ship, Miss Amelia," he said conceitedly, his nose in the air as he stood. "After all, I got you here with no troubles," he reminded the three of us, wagging his finger at me.

I leveled a glare at him and was about to reply with some scathing comment on his lack of assistance from the consulate when I saw Evelyn and Walter out of the corner of my eye. They looked so happy together- they did not wish to be apart just as much as I wished to go to Emerson's side. It would be cruel for me to whisk Walter away… especially now, with his first chance of sleeping in a more comfortable bed. 

"Very well, Mr. Gilbertson. Put your hat on and let us make haste. I would prefer to get to the wharves before dawn," I said, turning on my heel and starting towards the door.

Ten minutes later, having found Mr. Gilbertson's missing glove- which was in his pocket- we finally left Shepheards hotel.

TBC…


	4. Unsavory Characters

Splendid, More or Less Part 4/?

Author: Nefret24

Disclaimer and notes see part 1.

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I have been accused of many things in the course of a rather colorful life, but I think I can say without fear of accusation that I have never been considered anything but practical. Practicality insisted that, considering the distance of the wharves and the lateness of the hour, a hansom cab was necessary. And so, with great enthusiasm on the part of Mr. Gilbertson, we did hire a taxi to take us to the _Philae_'s moorings. I was appeased that I should at least be spared another lecture on the dangerous nature of the Cairene streets and would soon partake of Emerson's much more agreeable company. 

However, as with the best laid plans, things went decidedly awry. The driver was quite under the weather, influenced by a distasteful vice that had been his undoing, and thus the carriage had collided head-on with the side of a storefront. The impact was decidedly unpleasant, and I felt myself flung across the seat of the cab. Mr. Gilbertson suffered likewise and the back of his head struck the opposite seat so violently that he passed out. 

After the dust had settled and I removed the wares of the shop keeper from my person, I wriggled out the side of the coach, in the process snagging my dress sleeve on a rather ragged piece of metal that had once been the door handle. Precariously balanced on the edge of the overturned taxi, I struggled to loose myself. Unfortunately, I lost my balance before I managed to free the sleeve and heard a loud _rip_ as I fell over the side.

Rising unsteadily to my feet, I assessed the damages. My dress was torn and now soiled with something dark and sticky, the origins of which I could not determine. I probably did not want to know. Mr. Gilbertson remained unconscious and after making a small circuit of the cab, I found that so was the driver. He was fortuitously unharmed, and had landed face-first on a stack of carpets. He remained recumbent there, snoring and reeking of opium. I decided against waking him; it was a job best left to the shopkeeper himself when he came upon the culprit in the morning. 

Unfortunately, I could not with a clear conscience leave Mr. Gilbertson in his present position. So, with extreme care, I climbed over the disengaged wheel back into the interior of the carriage, cursing at my inadequate footwear in the process. In all appearances he seemed fine; the skin of his head hadn't even been broken in its collision with the seat. 

I slapped his face with little delicacy. He groaned and mumbled something intelligible so I repeated the action. His eyes flew open and I smiled down at him triumphantly. 

"Good evening, Mr. Gilbertson. I trust you're not injured severely?" 

He seemed a trifle disconcerted as he began to take in the disarray of his surroundings so I gave him a concise recount of the events that had transpired. As I spoke, he shakily drew himself into a sitting position within the carriage and delicately fingered his forehead.

"Well, this is a pretty mess, Miss Amelia," he said once I had finished.

"I confess I am not all that familiar with this part of town, especially at night," I admitted, hoping to bolster his confidence. Perhaps, just perhaps, he might recall something?

No, it was too much to hope for, unfortunately. In fact, Mr. Gilbertson instead of bursting out into heroics, seemed to want nothing more than to wait around to see if another carriage would pass by our way. I did not know if a comment about the incredible illogic of that suggestion would go over well, as he seemed on the verge of hysterics already, so I suppressed it. 

"Mr. Gilbertson, you are not thinking clearly- that usually happens to those with trauma to the head," I said generously. "We can't stay here all night." I shivered, acutely aware of the gaping hole in my dress as the cold night air seeped into the carriage interior. "We must find our way back- or at the very least, to some sort of lodging for the night."

"How truly sensible you are, Miss Amelia! I am truly sorry oh, my head!" he clutched his forehead melodramatically as he tried to manuever his way to the door. 

"Be careful, Mr. Gilbertson," I called out, as I had already climbed out of the carriage, this time mindful of the protruding parts of the taxi. 

Somehow, by the grace of Providence, he extracted himself from the wreckage and alighted, or rather fell over, onto the ground without much further harm to his person. He was rather dusty however, and lamented this in great detail as we began to walk. 

Between his hysterics over pain and dust and his clumsy attempts to flatter me for my "quick wits," my mood became fouler by the second. I had thought that I had been heading in the proper direction for the wharves but apparently, I was mistaken (Some evil-tongued individuals would say that this was a first, but I would remind them that we all are subject to minor errors and cannot be faulted for that. Especially when out of sorts, frustrate, cold and lost in the dark, twisting streets of another country.) 

Somehow, by the backwards logic of the city plan, we ended up in the Khan el Khaleel, the bazaar of the metalworkers. I recalled visiting it with Evelyn weeks before, in search of a suitable tea kettle. Near one end was a large public fountain that during the daytime, had been overrun with chattering women filling up water jars; it was now completely deserted. And dearest Michael, who had been so helpful in escorting us to and from our shopping destinations, was bundled up in bed on the dahabeeyah. 

I stopped there and decided to rest a moment on the platform on which the fountain rested. I needed to think- we must have been closer to Shepheard's again, having backtracked somehow. 

Mr. Gilbertson, however, took this as a sign that I was beginning to tire. "Oh, Miss Amelia, you have held up admirably. A pillar of strength! We'll get back home, don't you fret your pretty little head about that!"

Grateful that he could not witness my sneer in the darkness, I was about to acquaint him with our surroundings as best I could when I saw a figure slip out of the shadows of one of the shops. My eyes had slowly accustomed themselves in the dark and I noticed a second figure. They were in hushed conversation, obviously oblivious to the presence of myself and Mr. Gilbertson. 

Individuals prowling around at night are bound to be up to no good, but they were the only people we had beheld in hours. If Mr. Gilbertson had money in his wallet, I was sure we could manage to get directions out of the bazaar to someplace well-lit with English persons roaming about, who would most assuredly be willing to help out a fellow traveler in need. 

"Do you know Arabic well?" I asked in a low voice.

"Er" 

As has happened time and time again, I found that I was the one who needed to take matters in hand. Gathering up my skirts, I approached the men as noiselessly as I could, with Mr. Gilbertson at my heels.

As I got closer, I began to catch pieces of their conversation. Surprisingly, they did not speak Arabic, or at the very least, it was like no Arabic I had ever been privy to hear. In fact, it sounded a great deal more like Hebrew, a language I had studied with my dear departed Papa; it even contained some Hebrew words.

Puzzled but resolute, I held my hands out before myself and greeted the men. "_Allah yimessîkum bil-kheir, effendis_." I spoke tentatively, unsure of my meager understanding of Arabic. 

They froze and fixed shocked faces upon mine, their countenances pale with horror, consternation and surprise. They shot one another worried looks and stared at me, and the cowering Mr. Gilbertson who was literally hiding behind my skirts while tugging insistently at my arm.

"We should go _now_," he hissed through clenched teeth.

I waved him off and smiled genially at the two men who still seemed suspicious of my motives. I could not blame them; I'm sure it wasn't an everyday occurrence for an Englishwoman to be wandering around that part of town in the dead of night. But I would be deceiving you, dear Reader, if I said that I was not fearful when they grinned back at me. One of them was especially sinister-looking, with a long white scar running the length of his cheek. 

"We are lost," I said to the men, gesturing to our surroundings. "We need to get back to Shepheards. Shepheards," I repeated again, looking at one then the other. "English persons stay there."

"_Inglizi_, sitt, _inglizi_," they nodded their heads and leered at me again. 

"Yes. English. Where are the English?" interrupted Mr. Gilbertson, suddenly deciding that he could handle the situation. 

The men seemed taken aback by his sudden entrance into the conversation and took a step back, conferring between themselves once more. Again, they spoke in that bizarre language of theirs. From my studies, I found I could discern a few words. "Money," "woman," and a word unprintable and certainly unsuitable for my own ears. If Mr. Gilbertson could understand any of it, then he was putting on a very convincing blank face. 

The men finished their conference and approached us again, smiling broadly. I did not like the look of their eyes, bright with avarice. I was beginning to think I should have listened to Mr. Gilbertson's suggestion beforehand. I gripped the handle of my parasol tightly, the handle becoming slippery with my own sweat.

It was too late to turn back now. Smiling not so assuredly back, I nodded at them. "Which way?" I asked, not sure if my Arabic was correct. "Which way?"

They did not answer but kept advancing on us, forcing us to walk backwards towards the _sabil_ to maintain our personal space. "Which way?" I asked again, this time in Hebrew.

They stopped in their tracks. A look passed between them and then they pounced. The man with the scar grabbed me by the arm while covering my mouth. The other grappled with Mr. Gilbertson for a few tense seconds, before the latter fell to the ground- whether from receiving a blow or simply fainting, I did not know. 

I writhed and kicked and tried in vain to swat at my attacker with my parasol. I confess I experienced a great deal of delight to hear him cry out in pain when I stabbed his foot with the sharp end. The other man soon came to his assistance and that was all I could remember before everything went black. 

TBC.


	5. Determined to Meddle

Splendid, More or Less Part 5/?

Author: Nefret24

Disclaimer and notes, see part 1.

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Though I cannot say that that instance was the only occurrence in which I lost consciousness, I can remark that no matter if it is the second or seventh time that someone has bludgeoned you sharply, it remains an unpleasant experience. 

I have no recollection of how I came to be sitting in the middle of the fountain, but suffice to say, the quantity of water did have its merits in helping me to regain my consciousness. I kicked and sputtered and tried to move. From what I could tell, my hands and feet had not been bound.

They might as well have been. The weight of my water-soaked dress efficiently left me frustrate in a labyrinth of fabric. I tried to pull the hair out of my face and could make out a third individual who was speaking to the men. 

I attempted to address them and were it not for the water garbling my speech, I would have upbraided them forcefully. Instead, my strangled shout of indignation served as the catalyst for making them scatter. 

"Good Gad," I muttered to myself as I tried to untwist my skirt from the fountain's spout. After a few unsuccessful tries, I managed to free myself and slowly extract myself from the structure. 

I hugged my arms tightly, feeling my teeth chatter with cold. However hot the desert can become within the daytime, it is shockingly cool at night. Especially when one is wearing a thin frock, is dripping wet and completely alone. 

Mr. Gilbertson was nowhere to be seen. "Mr. Gilbertson?" I called out, to no reply. I completed a circuit of the fountain to no avail. Had he been kidnapped?

I called out his name several times and eerie silence was my only reply. My cool intellect and nerves of steel, for which I am known, persevered, but I would be telling an untruth if I did not confess a bit of unease at finding myself in such a position. More determined than ever to find my way back to Shepheards, I began to walk down one of the less gloomy connecting streets.

As I continued, I devoutly wished that I had remained where I had been. The street became narrow and the mazelike quality of the streets was reinforced tenfold. It was very, very dark and to make matters even more disagreeable, the darkness itself seemed alive, teeming with unpleasant things: piles of pungent refuse, small rodents scurrying about, looming balconies perched precariously overhead. 

I am not easily daunted, but without a torch or a guide, the starlight completely obscured now by houses, my cause was hopeless. I would never find my way back to the Muski by this path, I rationalized, and so, I turned back the way I came. 

The fountain was in sight when I heard the noise- a loud, strangled "whoop!" Startled, I found myself whipping around to find its source only to be rushed head-on by its originator. Strong arms wrapped around me, half-lifted me from the ground, my head was pressed into a large shoulder. Assuming the worst, I struck out in all directions, blindly kicking and squealing. 

As my knee connected with my attacker's anatomy, a sound emanated from his lips that to me was akin to choirs of angels: "Dammit all, Peabody!"

"Emerson?!" I ceased my struggles and peered up into my would-be attacker's face. It was he!

"Peabody, what the devil is the matter with you? Can't you stay out of trouble for five minutes?" he roared in my ear.

"It is not my fault," I upbraided him and was about to protest my innocence when his lips captured mine.

"I don't know why I ever agreed to marry you, Amelia," he remarked some time later, slightly retracting his embrace. "I shall find an early grave, I think."

"Rubbish, my dear," I replied firmly and proceeded to fill him in on the events that had transpired since we had left the hotel. "But however did you manage to find me?"

"Especially when I was unknowing of your being lost?" he chuckled to himself complacently. "To be honest, it was an accident. I was, er, in the neighborhood, so to speak, and came across a rather incoherent skirmish- your carpet vendor was quite upset at the destruction of his shop."

Despite all Christian attempts to the contrary, I felt a satisfied smirk grace my lips. 

"Your driver was quite, er, the worse for wear, but he did manage to say that he had been denied payment by an English gentleman and lady who happened to have been in the coach."

"And you simply deduced it was I?" 

"No other Englishwoman I know wears this shade of crimson," he said, pulling one arm away to dig within his trouser pocket and revealing the torn fragment from my dress. "Or would be damn foolish enough to go running around the Old City by herself late at night!" he finished, giving me a slight shake. 

"I wasn't alone, Emerson... Emerson! Mr. Gilbertson! He's missing! Those thugs must have dragged him away!"

Emerson looked at me as if my hair were afire. I realized that in my previous account I had not explained what had happened after we had gotten hopelessly lost. His face underwent a series of convulsions and twitches, but he remained silent throughout.

"Well, it does explain why you're dripping all over me," he mumbled, shaking his head. He continued to murmur and I managed only to catch a few words: "Hebrew, did you say? It couldn't have been educated street ruffians, **bah** " he fingered the clef in his chin, deep in thought.

"I have heard stories, they say that criminals employ a secret language, composed of a mixture of Semitic languages" I began excitedly.

"The _siim issaagha_, you mean? Really, Peabody, what utter nonsense!"

"What other explanation can there be? Ruffians roaming around in the middle of the night- obviously uneducated men and yet speaking Hebrew? It is the **only** explanation that makes sense!"

Emerson's lower lip thrust out petulantly. He knew I was right. His hands found my shoulders again and he looked me straight in the eye. He spoke in a low growl. "Amelia, I will not leave my excavations for any longer than a week. You promised we would drop off Miss Evelyn's nefarious relation--"

"I didn't expect these events to occur--"

"I don't suppose you ever do," he muttered, shaking his head. "Whatever you propose to do-- don't do it. Gilbertson's a grown man"

"He's an idiot and you know that and he could be in terrible trouble! Just because someone has no wits to speak of is no reason to leave them in the clutches of criminals!" 

"Ameliaaaa," Emerson groaned feelingly. "My dig site"

"Emerson. I promise you I'll find him before the week is out," I said confidently. 

"That's what worries me," he managed feebly, taking my arm to lead me back to the hotel. 


End file.
